


six feet from the edge (the abyss looks pretty dark from here)

by kashxy



Series: will i ever stop writing angst? (no) [5]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Graphic Depictions of Drug Withdrawal, Hurt Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 11:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19150354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashxy/pseuds/kashxy
Summary: “tony.” he whines through the spit bubbling at his chin. “just a little bit.”





	six feet from the edge (the abyss looks pretty dark from here)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the scene in the basketball diaries (1995) in which reggie helps jim through his drug withdrawal.

when peter wakes, it’s in a room he doesn’t remember falling asleep in. 

he’s barely opened his eyes for two seconds before a wave of pain hits him straight in the stomach, and he doubles over in an attempt to escape the searing agony. he turns to his side, breathing harshly through his teeth, and finds his bottle of water empty. he squeezes his eyes together and lets out a high pitched groan from the back of his throat; he’s not sure he could speak if he tried. 

it’s somewhat dark and while peter can make out the slit of light coming from the small opening in the door, he can’t see clearly through the blurriness of his pupils. the tilting room makes his head swim, and he feels tears build in his eyes when he finds himself unable to focus on any single thing.

“to-ny.” he moans, his head on fire as it collides with the bed post. it’s his own fault, but it doesn’t stop him crying harder through the bleariness of his half-asleep soul. 

“give it...me.” he whispers, fingers outstretching to pronounce the veins in his arms. his right inner elbow is bruised and blown, and the veins snaking around it are a harsh purple.

“please.” he cries, and arches his back to ride the intense heat that follows the outburst. it shakes through his body, a fire storming straight through his veins until he’s whimpering and barely able to breathe through the shaking of his body. 

all of a sudden, it’s so hot in the room, too hot, that he pushes his hands down his body and yanks at the pair of shorts around his thighs clumsily. he pulls them down halfway, before the heat in his veins burns his limbs into paralysation and have him twitching while he sniffles. he sits, half undressed, in one of tony’s old t-shirts, sweating into his curls as he cries. 

spit bubbles up around his lips when he cries out again, this time hearing tony shuffle from the room over. he doesn’t come any closer, though, so peter screams and screams until his throat is raw and he tastes blood. the fluids from his mouth spill down his chin, soaking into the t-shirt when he sobs; he pulls weakly at the material and bites down so hard he feels his teeth crunch. 

“i’m in pain.” he sobs, and drags himself off the bed. the cramps grip his body like a vice and have him doubling over to throw up onto himself as soon as he reaches the end of the bed. he cries through the vomit, spitting out the remaining bile and spit onto his lap. he twitches as he wipes it lazily away from his chin when it dribbles past his bottom lip.

when he stands and gently rubs at his shorts with a towel that had been discarded on the floor, the stench reaches his nostrils and he gags. the movement seizes his legs and his knees buckle under him before he can stop it. he’s on his hands and knees before his brain can keep up, foggy and yearning as he crawls towards the door. 

tony’s sat in a chair, reading a book, but his eyes are fixated on the wall opposite him, and his face is red: almost like he’s been crying. if he notices peter before the small boy reaches his leg, he doesn’t comment on it. 

“please,” peter cries, his head bumping against tony’s thigh when he collapses in exhaustion next to the chair. the motel living room is dirty and cold, and peter grips his fingers into tony’s sweater as he sobs. “i’m hurt, you gotta give it to me.” 

tony looks exhausted, and for good reason. he’s been awake for thirty-two hours straight and the teenager’s only just reaching the peak of the withdrawal. it’s an agonising waiting game to come back over the hill that’s stopping the recovery, and tony’s regretting every time he missed the symptoms of his kid’s drug addiction.

he sighs and puts a hand around peter’s shoulders. the small boy cries, leaning back so his face is fully exposed to tony. his lip is bruised and bloody, tears and spit staining his cheek and chin. his pale skin is splotchy and red in places, like he’s been clawing at his face with his nails. his pupils are blown wide, eyes unfocused and hazy, and tony takes a moment to wonder if that’s what he looked like, all those years ago. peter’s face makes him want to scream, and cry, because he’s so far gone that it doesn’t seem like there’s any light at the end of the tunnel at all. 

“i’m hurt,” he repeats. “i need it, please.” 

his body begins to shake more harshly, the tremors flowing through his body until he’s a shaking mess at tony’s foot. the sweat drips down his forehead as tony strokes the curls back, and watches as his legs kick out at phantom pains. 

“you gotta fucking give it to m-me!” he sobs, voice several octaves higher than before. he’s taken to clutching at tony’s shirt whilst crying, and he babbles mindless agonies as he pulls tony onto the floor with all his strength. 

the older man wraps his arms clumsily around his back, and then under his knees, completely set to deposit him back to his segregated room, until the boy starts screaming and thrashing and flinches away from his hold. 

“give me the fucking drug!” he screams, eyes wide and blown out, frantically darting around the room. “pills, needle, needle, anything, please, fuck, now!” 

peter’s on the floor, crying into tony’s leg when the older man pulls him into his chest and gently presses him against his sweater. the teenager’s murmuring curses and pleas, repeating himself again and again until his brain can barely function with the lack of oxygen. he babbles about the drug, too, demanding tony give it to him, before the cold tremors start over. within the minute, he’s shaking, teeth chattering, and tony reaches over tiredly to retrieve his lost blanket. he knows full well that in a minute it’ll be covered in blood and vomit and sweat, but he pays no attention to that, and focuses himself on the crying boy in front of him. 

“i’m in pain.” peter sobs, drool spilling past his lips with every syllable. tony reaches to his mouth and gently wipes at the skin around it, careful to avoid the bloody cut on the side of his bottom lip. he’d opened it while screaming, so the spit comes away bloody and stringy. 

“i just-need a lil’ something.” he slurs, looking up at tony with eyes like puppy dogs. his eyeballs are pink and veiny, the lower lid an angry red, which tony can’t be sure is from the crying or the drugs. 

“you don’t understand.” he cries, and tony tenses. he understands far too much what peter’s going through, trying to withdraw from several drugs all at once. except when tony went through his withdrawal, he was a human, not a boy with heightened senses and sensitive pain reflexes. while the drugs could tie him over for longer than usual, it also meant trying to get him off them was more painful than usual, and tony finds himself almost regretting driving to may’s apartment with the promise that he’d look after her son. 

“please, it hurts.” he bubbles out, gave slick and wet with so many bodily fluids and bruises that tony can barely make out the skin underneath it. 

he reaches out to peter once again, and starts to clean his face with a towel he’d spotted to his right. it wasn’t dirty, ready for when peter awoke and needed this kind of treatment, so tony settles him into the crook of his arm, and just holds him while he cries. 

he speaks mindlessly as he cleans peter’s face, then his neck, then his whole upper body. the teenager could shower when he was feeling better; right now, all tony cared about was him feeling comfortable and to reduce the pain as much as possible. 

peter’s still squirming in his arms, but his crying has ceased slightly, and he only gently hiccups as his body recoils and contracts again. tony holds peter’s limp hand in his palm, instructing him to squeeze it when the pain came again. every few seconds, there’ll be a pressure in his hand, but it’s gone after a moment. tony doesn’t pay it any mind, and continues cleaning his face and murmuring sweet nothings’. sometimes, the teenager will bubble up again and start screaming, but tony just retrieves a bowl of warm water and gently cleans his face, and they start all over again. 

it’s like a circle and by all that’s holy, does tony wish he weren’t in this situation: but if it’s helping peter get better, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do. 


End file.
